


Touch perception

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied Past Rape/Non-Con, Kink Meme, Masturbation, Panic Attack, Porn with Feelings, Post-Movie(s), Sexual Dysfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-28 11:39:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6327505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She does like kissing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First chapter from this [kink meme prompt](https://madmaxkink.dreamwidth.org/1730.html?thread=1745090#cmt1745090) :  
> "Due to injury and/or trauma, Furiosa experiences pain during any kind of genital contact. Max has to get creative when it comes to intimacy."  
> 

Furiosa does like kissing him. 

Sex has been difficult for both of them. Max had been sleeping in her bed for more than sixty days before their touches began to turn intimate. After Joe, after seven thousand days, she seizes up easily. When he told her about his lost wife and child, she already knew: she’d seen his nightmares. She’d kissed him first, drawn to those lips, but even his hand between her legs had hurt. 

Memories get in the way. She’s tried stroking herself, alone behind a locked door. The first time, she nearly got there, got wet, before a lurch of panic stopped her shaking fingers. She made herself do it again, working grimly at a dry, tense clit. It got her nowhere, and now she wonders if trying too hard is part of the problem.

But she does like kissing him. Soft at first, curled gently together, gradually becoming more heated. He’ll stroke himself off, or sometimes she’ll do it, on nights when they’re both more relaxed than usual. She loves the look he gets afterwards, open and sweet. 

The look he’s had today has been different, something speculative when he catches her eye. It’s been a good day, winding down the last of the harvest. The crops are the best they’ve ever had, new varieties taking root in the Citadel’s clean soil. Hard-worked bodies are relaxed and well fed. It’s usually the Dag and Cheedo who are the first to slip away from evening gatherings, but Max takes Furiosa’s hand, and they head for the quiet of her room.

She’s about to change into her sleeping clothes when he stops her. He’s behind her, arms around her – and what a difference that is, that she can enjoy that. “Keep these on?” he murmurs, hand on her leather-clad thigh. She raises an eyebrow, watches as he strips off shirt and boots, leaving his own trousers on. Rather tentatively, she undresses half-way, lets him draw her down beside him. Nudity isn’t new for them, but it’s not exactly habitual. She’s used to soft layers when she’s in bed with him, not this half-and-half of leather and nakedness.

They lie on their sides, and he cups her face, leaning in to kiss her. When she starts to melt into it, he kisses his way along her jaw, lips soft below her ear. His hand is warm at her waist. They’ve done all of this before, but she’s very conscious of her own bare skin, and of the slow, purposeful way he kisses down her neck. His tongue on her collarbone sends odd little shivers down her arms. She rocks towards him, sliding her thigh between his legs to give him something to grind against.

She can feel how hard he is, even with two thick layers in between, but he gently nudges her leg away. He strokes his hand over her thigh, up her side, to cup her face again. She finds herself squeezing her legs together as he kisses her, parting her lips for his tongue. It’s the kind of kiss she loves, once she’s warmed up for it, so she’s surprised to find herself impatient. She wants his mouth on her shoulders again, sending tingles across her skin. 

She gasps when he ducks his head and licks, lapping at the sweat on her breastbone. She’s hot, now, aware of sweat behind her knees and between her thighs. Not just sweat: she’s shocked to realise how wet she is. She makes to undo her trousers, but he shakes his head, face rubbing against her skin. The scrape of his beard against her breast is another jolt. She actually feels a pulse in her cunt, an involuntary clench of muscles. She’s panting, hot and heated and aware of all the places their skin is touching, pulling him closer. He follows when she rolls onto her back, his forearm braced to keep his weight off her. He’s careful to leave space between their hips.

There’s no real friction, no pressure on her cunt beyond the squeeze of her own thighs. Yet she feels that pulse again, and again, as he kisses her nipple, his hand skimming up and down her side. Her heart is beating fast, and she’s so wet, shivering as his hand strokes and his tongue works and works at one nipple, then the other. She has her nub hooked around his shoulders, her hand gripping his bicep. Her cunt twitches again, and she moans.

Furiosa is not experienced in orgasms, is honestly not sure if she’s having one now. This isn’t the noisy, shouting thing she’s heard women and war boys talking about (though, to be fair, Max’s soft, deep grunt and sigh isn’t like that, either). But her cunt shudders in a way that she can’t control, and which has nothing to do with pain or fear. His mouth softens, his hands gentling her. Her limbs feel heavy and warm. 

After a moment, she pulls him up, kissing him fiercely. Her hand slips down, reaching for the flap at his crotch. 

“Mmm, not in my pants,” he says, shaking his head and reaching for his fastenings. “Hard to clean.” He’s not wrong: even without cum to deal with, she’s aware that sweat and slick have got her underwear and leathers into a state. 

“Now you tell me,” she grumbles. He smiles, so pleased and proud and unexpectedly shy that she can’t help kissing him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm [here on tumblr](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 2

They relax into it. Furiosa can get lost in his touches, in the pleasure of touching him. Sometimes she comes; not often, but she’s still surprised that her body can do that, that his mouth on her neck or her nipples can work her up to it.

One night, as he helps her take her arm off, Max drops kisses onto her neck, her shoulder, the crook of her elbow. When he looks at her, smiling, she feels a dizzying shot of lust. It’s as if she’s just saved herself from a dangerous fall: her heart is thumping in her throat, all her muscles tingling. She can’t stop staring. He’s looking back at her, his eyes enormous, pupils wide. For a long moment, neither of them know what to do with themselves. She feels very clumsy as she hangs up her arm, sees his fingers tangle as they both strip to their shorts. She pulls him into bed and starts kissing him. Though his hands are slow, still careful, they’re urgent.

She purrs when he drops one hand to her bare thigh; he’s cautious about touching her anywhere below the waist, and she wants him to be sure she’s happy about it. She kisses and licks at his neck as he nuzzles her shoulder, his other hand sliding to her breast. Her nipples are hard, and she shivers, but she’s becoming aware that this won’t be one of the times she comes. She’s very wet, but hasn’t felt a spasm in her cunt muscles. Then she wonders if it’s only fear that keeps her from trying something new.

She takes his hand, kisses his palm. Very deliberately, she brings it down between her thighs, places it over her crotch. Max murmurs with pleasure, his hand loosely cupping her. The way he’s looking at her, at his own hand on her, is enough to make her swallow. She can feel the warmth of his skin through the soft fabric of her underwear, likes the idea that he can feel the shape of her pussy. She sighs when he shifts his hand, moving his fingers together. He presses just a little harder, and everything shuts down.

It’s like a gate slamming closed, her body freezing so fast that it’s painful. Max realises at once, is already pulling his hand away. She’s gasping in panic, frantic gulps of air, her clenching muscles aching. He backs off, giving her a moment alone, then very slowly moves in to wrap his arms around her. She presses her face to his shoulder, panting. This isn’t the first time this has happened with him, but it’s been a while. She’d thought she’d got past it. As her breath steadies, he strokes her back, kisses the top of her head. It’s comforting, and no comfort at all, because moments ago he had been touching her with very different intent. She could cry with frustration. 

She shifts, tries to get a grip on herself. She’s aware that, after all that buildup, his cock is still hard, and probably won’t go down without attention. She slides her hand to his thigh, offering. 

“S’okay,” he mumbles. 

“But,” she says, and doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. She can feel her face crumpling as the tears well up, buries her head against his shoulder again.

When she calms, he brings her the washcloth and a cup of water, watches as she wipes her face. There’s not much water left in the jug. “’ll get a refill,” he says, gesturing, leaving for the washroom at the end of the hallway. She guesses that he wants to deal with his erection, is trying to do it discreetly rather than in front of her. She knows it’s a kindness, and tries very hard not to mind. 

Furiosa doesn’t understand how her body can do this to her. For thousands of days, it’s been all she had to rely on. It has survived assault and injury, fought off infection, broken down only when she pushed it past exhaustion. She’s trained it and tended it as far as she can. Now it’s rebelling against her, making its own demands but refusing her when she tries to go through with them. She doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know where to start.

When Max comes back, he finds her sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in the blanket. She’s careful not to look at his groin, and knows he knows it. He crouches down, takes her face in his hands, and kisses her. It’s a soft kiss, for comfort but for pleasure, too. He licks at her lips, tongue pressing gently in as she moves her hand to his hair. When they break apart, he rests his forehead against hers. 

He brings her sleeping clothes, helps her get into them. They curl up together, Max pressed to Furiosa’s back. She leans against him, feeling his warm, solid weight as he draws the blanket over them and puts his arm around her. She sighs, and laces her fingers with his.


	3. Chapter 3

Furiosa dozes, waking not long after drifting off. Max is more deeply asleep behind her; he’s usually sleepy after an orgasm. She has a moment of envy for what seems to her the simplicity of male plumbing, because while they both have issues, his don’t seem to be physical. Then she remembers Joe, and the measures he’d taken to keep himself going, and – why the fuck is she thinking of the old schlanger now? Max stirs against her. They’re both restless sleepers, getting better at sleeping through each other’s minor twitches, but he’ll be woken by the way her heart rate is going up.

This, at least, she knows how to deal with. She banishes Immortan Joe, not by trying not to think about him but by thinking of what has been achieved since his death. Thinks of the gardens, new soil cleared yard by yard, new seeds planted. Remembers the short row of pea plants, the Dag’s pride and joy, plump sweet pods the improbable result of a plant with soft tendrils and loose, colourful petals. Her breath steadies, and she tries to sleep again.

Her body is still fighting her. She’s awake for a long time, twitchy and on edge, trying to hold herself still. With a sense of desolation, she wonders if this is the last of that wash of desire, something built up and not let out. She thinks trying masturbation again is a bad idea, in this mood, but what has she got to lose?

She pushes a finger between the lips of her vulva, and finds herself dry. She wants to jab angrily at herself, to prod her stubborn body into some kind of reaction, even if it’s only pain. She forces herself to move more gently, trying to think of the ways Max touches her.

She’s doggedly rubbing when she feels him stir behind her, wonders how long he’s been awake. She has a nervous moment when he moves his hand down, but he only takes hers, raises it to her shoulder and kisses the pulse at her wrist. She sighs, soothed by the touch of his lips on her skin. He turns her hand, kissing the knuckles, and sucks two of her fingers into his mouth.

Furiosa goes still, feeling breathless. Max sucks gently, licking at the pads of her fingers. He works his tongue between them, licking and sucking until her fingers are slick with spit. With a last kiss to her fingertips, he draws her hand back down to her crotch, and lets go. He tucks his arm around her waist, presses a kiss to her shoulder.

You don't waste moisture in the wasteland. She isn't sure how to react, but she also knows that his saliva will be drying on her hand, and hastily slips her fingers back in. She’s no longer dry, her body heated in response to his mouth on her. As she finds her clit, she’s aware of Max behind her, the muscles of his arm easy where it’s draped over her. He murmurs when she leans more firmly against him, moving her slippery fingers more quickly. He tightens his arm around her ribs, with a movement of lips at her neck that might be another kiss or a sleepy mumble. 

She keeps stroking, aware that it’s having some effect. This doesn’t have the shivers of being kissed and touched, the way she sometimes feels that she’s floating in sensation when Max caresses her. But she thinks her body is responding, permitting its needs to be met. She angles her fingers slightly, and everything seems to go faster. 

When her orgasm comes, it’s quick and almost practical: a few shudders, and she’s done. But she’s overwhelmed by the relief of it. It’s not just the way that that nagging energy has ebbed, or that sleep now seems possible. Furiosa has always been pragmatic, has had to be. She’s survived by working at whatever she can control, by trying to fix what’s broken. This is something she can work with. 

Behind her, Max murmurs again, nuzzling at the back of her neck. She rolls over to kiss him. He’s still sleepy, his body relaxed and heavy, but she can feel him smiling against her lips. He settles his arms around her, lets his head fall back to the pillow. Remembering the feeling of his mouth on her fingers, she thinks he can probably work with it, too.


End file.
